While Hubby was away in Vegas enjoying the fun and sun, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little envious.

On Tuesday he called to “check in.” After describing all the fun adventures he had already had and what he had planned for the rest of the week, he asked how I was.

I began to explain to him the trials and tribulations I had already overcome since he had been gone a day and a half. Midway through a sentence he interrupted me to say he really had to go and abruptly ended the call.

How rude! I gave him the cold shoulder until Friday night when I picked him up at the airport.

Before this Vegas trip was even an idea, Hubby and I had planned to spend this past weekend on the Iron Range watching Mason play a junior high basketball tournament.

When I wouldn’t budge on postponing the weekend for his Vegas trip, Hubby decided he could have his cake and eat it too.

He booked a return flight on Friday from Vegas to Duluth and from there we would attend Mason’s basketball game the following day.

Can you tell he’s a gambling man? Who books a return flight 300 miles from home and then “hopes” that winter weather cooperates with flight schedules?

I’ll admit, the plan seemed reasonable–almost do-able–until a host of things went wrong all week while he was gone. By Friday when the car broke down and was in need of repairs before I could leave town, I was beginning to unravel.

I called him near tears recapping a weeks worth of breakdowns, disappointments and disasters in one breath. When I finally stopped to take a breath Hubby jumped in with his advice.

Calm down.

When I’m in crisis mode those two words ignite a fire of anger inside me so hot I practically turn into molten lava.

Before I melted Hubby with the searing words I was thinking I did the next best thing–I hung up on him. My next thought was to leave him stranded at the airport in Duluth.

Rest assured I didn’t.

I knew I was being irrational, but I just needed to vent off some steam! It seemed like everything that could go wrong while he was gone, did, in fact, go wrong. The car breaking down on Friday morning was just the icing on the cake.

When all was said and done, the car received a shiny, new water pump and despite starting my trip several hours later than I had anticipated, I still made it to Duluth in plenty of time to meet Hubby at the airport.

I spent most of the five hour drive to Duluth composing an “I’m sorry” speech for basically blaming all the troubles of the week and the car breaking down on Hubby’s absence while he vacationed.

He looked anxious as he came off the plane. We really hadn’t spoken anymore on Friday after I hung up on him besides the text I sent him when I was finally on my way.

At dinner that evening Hubby admitted to feeling the icy shoulder I had been giving him since the Tuesday of his vacation. He apologized for being insensitive.

I apologized for blaming a week’s worth of disasters and problems on him while he was on vacation.

On Saturday we arrived a half hour late to the basketball tournament. After we found our seats Mason’s dad informed us that Mason already had four fouls in the first half of the game. It was only another three minutes later when Mason fouled out of the first basketball game completely.

I approached Mason after that game and he gave me the same icy shoulder I’d given Hubby all week. When he did finally speak to me he was near tears and scolded me for being late so he couldn’t talk to me before the game, which, according to him, threw off his focus.

This scenario was so familiar to the one I had on Friday that I almost choked on the slice of humble pie I’d just been served.